Keep me Company
by Niqyllion
Summary: Don't we all just need that one person who completes us? It may not always be that super cliché romance you read about in books. More along the lines of dorky idiots who mean well you read about in FanFiction. Peter Parker didn't just fall in love, he sneaked after it and got his nose broken in the process.


Peter Parker felt like a jerk. A fucking asshole standing at the edge of the world leaning forward, only moments away from diving head-first into a black pit that would singe his body and mind untill there was nothing left but a pathetic, little, crying heap of misery. Nothing more... nothing less.  
And worst of all, he knew he had himself to thank for it, every step he had taken for the past few months, those sweet and blissful months, had brought him closer to the deep fall he was about to take. And in front of him stood the person who'd anchor him to the bottom to keep him there.

His guts had flown out the window, hand in hand with his courage leaving him all alone to stare at his feet and the frame of the door. Never had he wished to possess Spider-man's bravery, while still being Peter, so badly before. Just so he could look at her, because he knew now would actually be the last damn time he could face her like this. He wanted to do this right.

"Peter..." Her voice pulled his eyes up like a magnet and sucked him into the depth of her eyes and felt himself sinking deeper.

She opened her mouth, ready to say something, anything really. But he rudely interupted her, he couldn't give her the chance to change his mind about this, as badly as he wanted to.

"It's not you," He cut in, as if such a lame statement would miraculously make it all better. His breathing was shaky and weak, and he wanted to stop doing it altogether, as he continued. "It's me."

Her lower lip trembled for a second before she pressed her lips together in a sharp line, her eyes were big, deep dark irises that had owned all the hidden colors of a storm had been reduced to a dull grey and were wearing a mask of denial, possibly to hide the pain that went on inside her head.

"But there's nothing wrong with you!" Her hands clasped around the fabric of his jacket, a near desperate attempt to keep them both there, terribly afraid to let go and most likely lose him. "I fucking love everything that's you!"

"Dot, please,"

"Isn't that enough?"

He didn't answer, everything he'd say would just be half-assed, stupid and straight up not true.

Peter gently removed her hands, she reluctantly let him, and it hurt him not to lovingly intertwine their fingers and kiss them. Instead, he placed them at her sides, leaving them there all alone. She choked out a sob, the first of many, it was tiny and barely a gasp but it held the weight of the world and crushed him. What he was doing felt wrong, why destroy something that had felt so right? He knew they could still recover from this if he put a stop to this madness that instant, but there was a certain red and blue, webbed spandex suit staring holes in his back from the hidden department of his closet.

He opened and closed his mouth repeatedly to say anything, but no sound came out, he just had nothing to say, nothing to offer her. Absolutely nothing, except for the glaring hard box full of her stuff she had left around his place over time. With a heavy sigh he lifted the box that seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, which it didn't, but his mind only processed the hypothetical feelings that were messing up his reality.

They stood there perhaps a little too long, the momentum being stretched painfully and the second Peter handed Dot her stuff, was the moment all the warmth slipped from him, left his body in a numbing cold while his mind went on auto pilot. He couldn't think anymore, just feel, and not even that.

Without another word he closed the door, tearing his heart to shreds, his feet nailed to the ground and the air frozen in his lungs. He didn't hear her cry, which made her awefully quiet retreat even more painful. She was dumbfound, in shock and denial. The last few feelings that would protect her from the brewing hurricane within.

The appartment felt cold and he was so obviously alone it was messed up. He shuffled with a mind blanc of thought and a face wiped of emotions through the kitchen, bumping into the table and smashing a plate. But he didn't hear it, didn't feel the tiny shards prickling his feet, nor the pain of blood. He just heard his own breathing, the buzzing of his empty head and the cracking of his joints. He walked past everything like he had gone blind.

He dropped down on their, no, his... bed. Suddenly exhausted and drained of the will to move. Her scent hit him square in the face when he burried his face into the pillows, so fresh and nice and subtle and yet so very destructing. The impact of what he had just done, the horror of it all, undid whatever sorcery had kept him so calm and unfeeling. He let out screams of hurt and sorrow, muffled by the cushion, and broke down.

 _Being a superhero sometimes seriously sucks_


End file.
